


Wait ... what!?

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Tibbs [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cuddly DiNozzo, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mischievous Gibbs, Silly Palmer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: "Wait .. have we been ... dating this entire time??" AKA Tony and Gibbs realize they're basically an old married couple.





	Wait ... what!?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a male/male fic, so please, if you don't like that, don't read.

* * *

The first inkling of understanding comes on a simple, typical, unextraordinary day. There's no case to demand thier attention, no interoffice politics to keep them on their toes. Just the core group of McGee, David, DiNozzo and Gibbs stuck behind their desks doing the NCIS equivalent of busy work. Or, on the part of the first two, goofing off instead of doing their busy work.

"Knock it off, McGee!" Tony grunts, the fact that he is suddenly the 'voice of reason' drawing the attention of the other agents moving about the bullpen. Within moments, he feels so many eyes on him that his attention is fully snapped. Slowly, his dark hazel-green eyes lift. Taking in the sight of rubberneckers peering at him from different spots all over the room. He clears his throat, nostrils flaring as he looks back down at his keyboard.

"Oh come on, Tony. Would you not usually be doing the same?" Agent David asks, head canting at a fair angle as she leans back in her seat. She is trying to stealthily wad a piece of blank paper in her lap as she addresses the man that would be cutting up right beside them on most days.

"Ziver!" Gibbs and DiNozzo bark her name disapprovingly, adding the hard 'er on the end, at the exact same moment in nearly identical tone and timbre, and it causes everyone in the bullpen to jump and then turn and hasten back toward their own assignments.

McGee and Ziva exchange slack-jawed looks of utter confusion, noting that neither Tony or Gibbs look up from their work. In fact, Ziva is left wondering if they had actually both spoken. If so, they didn't seem aware of the fact that they had so perfectly mirrored each other.

McGee carefully scoots his chair over a little, eyes wide, brows arched in surprise as he stares at her. She gets the feeling that he's trying to convey some silent message and it is beginning to irk her that she has no understanding of his meaning or intent.

After sparing a glance toward Gibbs and Tony, the Mossad ninja subtly slips from her seat and pads over to McGee. 

"You know what they say, Ziva ... couples start acting and sounding alike after a while." He whispers the words so softly Ziva can barely hear them. Despite standing right in front of him.

"I heard that, Probie." Tony growls out in such a perfect imitation of Gibbs' usual sour demeanor, that Ziva jumps and hurries back to her desk.

"Sorry, Boss." The conditioned response is automatic, McGee swearing softly beneath his breath. "I mean, Tony." He grits the words out. Tony ducks behind his computer screen a little bit, unable to stop the half-smirk that softens his features at being called Boss. He never gets tired of that word. Of the way McGee sometimes snaps to when he accidentally uses it.

They both miss the same half-smirk across Gibbs' features, the Bossman having not heard McGee's aside to Ziva, only his response to Tony.

"Back to work, McGee, Ziver." Gibbs chides goodnaturedly, causing Tony's smirk to broaden into the usual, dopey, oh-so-sweet smile that he wears whenever Gibbs headslaps him. 

Though that smile shatters immediately, his head ducking instantly back behind the computer screen. Wait!! Had McGee just ... called them a couple!? He feels as if some small part of his brain short circuits at such an implication. In the next moment, however, he brushes the thought aside. It's just McGee being silly and childish for being caught slacking off. It has to be.

* * *

Gibbs steps off the elevator and walks into Abby's lab, a Caf-Pow clutched in one hand. In the end, he had decided it best to leave the bullpen for a few. Stretch his legs and shake some of the cobwebs from his mind. If nothing else, a brief visit with his pseudo-daughter would offer him a little bit of distraction from the way Tony had retreated into himself after McGee and Ziva's goofing off earlier. He wishes he had heard what McGee had told Ziva, what he may have said that made Tony react in such a way. Though, on second thought, maybe it's good that he hadn't heard. He'd feel compelled to punish the agent for messing with his Senior Field Agent and he'd rather not have to do something like that right now. Even if it would help alleviate some of the boredom. 

"GIBBS!" Abby's enthusiastic greeting doesn't draw him from his thoughts so much as instantly destroy them as she bounces up to him. Black platform shoes clicking loudly against the floor as she finds a way to hug him without seeming to make too much contact.

"Abby." He drawls out in the usual controlled measure he uses when speaking to her. One of the only ones in the whole of NCIS that he consciously strives not to snap at. Though, sometimes he fails and does it anyway.

"Is that for me, Gibbsy?" She bats her lashes in a playful manner, fingers flexing in the universal grabby-hands motion children tend to use. He can't help it. He smiles. Not much, just a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, as he holds the plastic cup out to her.

"Who else would it be for, Abigail?" His smile deepens a fraction when her eyes widen in surprise at his using her full name. She manages to draw the cup from him, taking a deep drink of the overcaffeinated concoction, before she sets it down and bounces a little bit more. He truly worries that one of these days, she might actually start vibrating like a giant mote of light. 

"No clue, Gibbs. But! That's not what's important." She grabs him by the arm and hauls him toward her research table. Which is currently completely devoid of any real work. Instead, several outfits are laid out, and she points to them with shaking hands. "What's important .. is that I need help, Gibbs!" Her voice practically quivers with worry and he shoots an eyebrow up questioningly. The hell does she think he's going to be able to do to help with ... whatever all of that crap is!?

"Abby .." He warns firmly, his eyes snapping away from the trap of clothing on the table, back toward his pseudo-daughter. When she looks at him expectantly, he finally just snorts and shakes his head. "Not happening, Abs. Call Ziva, or hell, even McGee. But not me." He carefully pulls his arm free of her hold, and starts to turn away.

"But Gibbs ...!" She huffs, about two seconds from stamping her platformed foot in protest of his impending departure. When he doesn't give in to her pleas, she sighs. "Fine. But at least let me get Tony! He'll know just the right stuff for me to wear." Gibbs waves a hand dismissively. They have no case, no real assignment, so he has no trouble with Tony stepping down to the lab to spend a few minutes with her.

"Oh, also, Gibbs. I was kinda hoping that we could make this a double date." She feels heat flood her pale cheeks and she shifts her footing a little awkwardly. She doesn't really expect them to agree, but she can hope, right? When Gibbs turns back toward her with a look of unabashed puzzlement, she fights not to frown. But in the end, it breaks through, causing a little furrow between her brows. 

"... and??" Gibbs prompts angrily, waiting for Abby to make some damn sense already. First, she actually seems to think he would have some kind of input on her clothing choices, and now she is talking about some kind of double date? When she continues to frown at him. He tries to read her expression, but all he can see is some sense of anger and betrayal? "The hell is going on, Abs? What do I have to do with a double date?" He prompts, growing more and more bewildered and uncomfortable by the second.

"Well, do you and Tony have plans or not, Gibbs? It's a pretty simple question." She snaps out, turning her back to him to start fiddling with the clothing on the table. She misses the raw befuddlement on his features as he tries to work through what is going on with her. Once her words set in, he actually snorts and shakes his head.

"Honestly, Abby, as if I know what Tony's plans are? Or care, for that matter? You'd have to ask him that. Besides, no way am I going on a double date with you. I prefer -not- knowing what your dates are like." With that, he chuckles and heads toward the elevator again. Abby manages a backward glance at him, eyes wide with pain and sadness at Gibbs reaction.

".. wow, the second b really can be for bastard, Gibbs. You -should- care what your boy is up to." She mutters, her words barely managing to trail after him. They don't actually register until the elevator doors have closed. He reaches out to thump the emergency stop switch, eyes narrowed vaguely as he realizes what she had said.

"... why the hell should I know what Tony's up to?" He scoffs to the empty elevator, shaking his head. Honestly, he is -never- going to understand what these people are talking about. As if Tony were his 'boy.' He snorts with laughter, heading back to the bullpen once the elevator has stopped.

* * *

The moment Gibbs exits the elevator, he regrets it. Tony is absent from his computer, and Tim and Ziva are hunched together over her desk, casting quick, furtive glances toward the Senior Field Agent's absence. Some part of Gibbs wants to sneak down and find out what they're talking about, but at the same time, a larger part of him says he -really- doesn't want to know what they are discussing. Especially not after it made Tony implode into himself earlier. 

For a single moment, he feels a little like a coward. In fact, he feels his hand start to inch up, wanting to slap himself for the sentiment, but he refrains. Barely. Instead, he falls heavily into the chair behind his desk, eyes squinting vaguely at his computer screen.

"Boss." Tony's emotionless voice draws him from his thoughts, and he glances up. A small smile quirks the edge of Gibbs' mouth when he sees a coffee cup held out to him.

"Thanks, DiNozzo." He mumbles, taking a deep drink of the wonderful brew. He tips his head in added thanks, feeling something in his chest unclench and calm when Tony flashes his usual bright, beaming smile at him. Good. Things cannot be too bad if Tony is smiling like that again.

However, the veritable sunshine of Tony's mood isn't to last. Within moments, Tim and Ziva are whispering loudly again, casting further furtive glances that now include Gibbs as well, though he isn't paying the least bit of attention. 

"... coffee .... talking ... so alike ... playing with us .. pretending ... everyone ..... couple ..." The fervent, stilted whispers drift toward Tony as the two murmur together. The fact that he can hear only snippets is doing the poor SFA in. Especially when he hears the word -couple-, again. When the agents proceed to glance between him and Gibbs for the fifth or sixth time, that is all he can handle.

He leaps from his chair, hands wrapped so tightly around his coffee, that it's surprising he doesn't accidentally crumple the vessel as he skirts around his desk.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs gruff, but softly concerned voice trails after the SFA, who's only answer is the barked word AUTOPSY. He fears what will happen if he doesn't exit the bullpen ASAP. Right now, he thinks it's a fifty-fifty chance between having a panic attack and shooting one of his teammates. (At the moment, he -really- isn't prepared to call either of them -friends.-)

He boards the elevator, glaring moodily at a rather attractive woman that starts to step in with him. The stare is so Gibbs-like that the woman turns around and immediately moves as far away from the conveyance as she can. Tony practically punches the number for autopsy, arms crossing angrily over his chest as he waits.

* * *

"Ah, Anthony." Ducky lights up with near paternal happiness when Tony comes waltzing into autopsy. However, the moment he sees the near dark, disturbed mood contorting Tony's features into a lined mask of discomfort, he feels his happiness draining away. Replaced with a look of concern for the younger man. "Something troubling you, my boy?" 

As if in a daze, Tony silently shuffles deeper into the room. He looks around for a moment, registers the fact that there are no unfortunate bodies on the slabs and immediately settles on one. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly for a moment.

".... Tony?" The ME cajoles in silken soft, fatherly tones, but still, the Senior Agent doesn't seem to register that someone is there. Let alone talking. Instead, Tony pulls his knees a little closer to his chest. Tilts his head at an awkward, almost painful angle so that his cheek rests lightly on his knees. 

In the span of a few seconds, Ducky has seen something that can never be pleasant. He has seen the sweet, jovial young man he cares so deeply for, shattering. One could almost look upon Anthony DiNozzo Junior in this moment and see the ephemeral cracks of plaster and glass forming across his body. Ducky blinks, afraid to open his eyes again for fear of seeing fragments surrounding the broken young man in a pool of glittering diamond shard.

"My dear boy ..." Ducky murmurs, words painted with deep seated concern for his friend. Carefully, slowly, as if approaching a wild, wounded animal, he makes his way across the room to the slab the SFA occupied. Hands, aching with the need to comfort, faintly ravaged by the passing of time, reach for the younger man. "Tony ... you are beginning to worry me, my dear boy." He murmurs in soothing tones as his palm comes to press on the agent's shoulder. Almost instantly, Tony turns. Reaches out with wild, needy arms to wrap them about the aged man. Drawing him close in a much needed hug. 

Ducky's eyes slam shut, trying so hard to hold back the sorrowful tears threatening to fall. His arms carefully entwine around the younger agent, rocking carefully to try and soothe the despondent man. Even as the arms wrap around him, as the soft, consolatory murmurs flow from Ducky, Tony can feel tears cascading down his weathered cheeks. They cut a stinging path from eye to chin, free-falling onto his light dress shirt. 

"D-ducky ... doesn't get better .... still not good enough. Ziva and McGee .... condescending ... whispering .. disrespect ..." His words are a stumbled poem of angst and betrayal, and Ducky feels his eyes clamp all the tighter. A tapestry of exploding color paints the closed eyelids and he wishes he knew what to say. There is no story of wisened words, no recitation of past experience that the ME can call upon to balm the hurt of DiNozzo's soul, though he would just about auction off his own mortal soul to posses the means to fix the lad.

"Shhh. It shall be alright, Anthony." His whispered words are meant to help, of course, but even he knows they sometimes ring true. There is nothing Tony, Ducky, or even Gibbs can do to change minds so unwilling to learn. "You are more than good enough, my dear boy. A good leader, a good man." He tilts his head, placing a fatherly brush of lips across Tony's temple before reluctantly untangling himself from the quivering mass of emotion.

"Lay down, Tony." He coaxes, carefully lowering Tony to his side. His hand continues to lightly smooth the agent's shoulder even after Tony has settled. 

"Dr. Mallard ... oh!" Jimmy Palmer comes walking into autopsy, eyes widening in astonishment when he sees the way Tony is collapsed into himself. It takes so much self control for him not to rush the table and try to grab the man up, into a hug. But he knows better. Tony wouldn't like such a motion. In fact, he'd just about hate Palmer for managing to do something so personal, even if they had become friends. 

"Ah. Mister Palmer. Impeccable timing, as per usual, my boy. Would you be so kind as to sit with Anthony for a few minutes?" Jimmy nods solemnly, turning to place the books he had been carrying on the nearest slab. He crosses to where Tony is curled up and takes up the familiar position of the few times he and Tony had settled down here to talk. He climbs up behind the older man, leaning back so that his elbows rest ever so gently on Tony's sides, giving them contact without hugging or invading the agent's space on a large scale. Almost immediately, Tony releases a shaky breath and begins to calm. Loosening.

"I will return in a few minutes. It seems there are a few people I need to re-educate." Ducky turns on his heels, hands clenched into small, trembling fists at his sides as he heads out of Autopsy and toward the elevator. Jimmy watches until the doors close, before he reaches around. He gently pokes the small of Tony's back, causing the agent to wiggle a little bit. 

"You okay, Italian Stallion?" Jimmy drawls out softly, not bothering to mask the deep notes of concern in his words. For several minutes, the only reply is the soft, even breathing from behind him.

"Getting there, Black Lung .... getting there." Tony reaches a tentative hand back, squeezing Palmer's arm before he curls into himself again. Jimmy makes a soft, positive sound, pushing a little harder against Tony's back with his own. Making sure that the other man knows he's there for him.

* * *

Gibbs glances up for a fifth time, watching as one of his colleagues passes along the edge of the bullpen. He's struggling to hold his patented scowl at bay, but when a sixth person's movement draws his gaze up from his work, he nearly snaps. It takes several minutes of glaring into empty space for him to reach a rather simple and VERY obvious conclusion; he keeps jerking his gaze up in hopes of seeing DiNozzo walking back into the area. 

Okay, he knows the what, but now .. the why? Why is he feeling on edge? Why does he want to tap his fingers impatiently on the top of his desk. Hell, -why- does he want to growl and snarl at every person that draws his attention that -isn't- DiNozzo returning?? He sucks down the last gulp of coffee that Tony had brought him and is just angling the cup to toss into his rubbish bin, when he freezes. Stares wide eyed at it. Because it means Tony had been gone to autopsy long enough for him to finish an entire cup of brew. Where the hell is his SFA?! His fingers tighten, nails breaking through the cardboard just a little bit before he manages to lob it into the bin. 

Another movement and his head raises, tearing his gaze away from the binned cup in enough time to see a rather stormy-faced Ducky entering the bullpen. He looks .. well, stormy. Like a miniature Scottish hurricane prepared to rip apart anything unfortunate enough to get in his way. Which at the moment, includes a small group of three agents that cross in front of him. Gibbs is too far away to actually hear what is said, but the movement of his lips, followed by the group practically scurrying out of his way puts Gibbs on edge. Because Tony is supposed to be in Autopsy. The direction Ducky has to be coming from. His hands clasp into fists, pressed tightly against his thighs. He will maintain control. He will not lose his temper. He will -NOT- rush down to autopsy to make sure that his SFA is okay. 

"McGee. Ziva. Now." Ducky snaps the words out in a most uncharacteristic bark, and the two agents find themselves looking toward him. But neither move from their huddled position. Ducky's furled fists tighten at his sides and through sheer willpower, he manages not to stomp his foot in agitation.

"NOW!" His voice raises in volume, but also drops into a deeper octave. The two agents find themselves practically jogging in Ducky's direction. He manages to pry a fist from his side, fingers patiently unfurling. Splotchy red and white from clenching for so very long. He then promptly begins jabbing a finger at both of them.

Gibbs' brows shoot toward his hairline, lips pursing in a faint frown. He wishes he could -hear- what the ME is saying. He thinks he can almost read the words young Anthony, autopsy, and disrespect. His brows furrow and knit together and he has but a few seconds to wonder why the hell his very first reaction to any possible disrespect between his team is to run and check on Tony, rather than chastising the two fools showing the disrespect. But in the end, it doesn't matter. He silently makes his way for the elevator. Heading for autopsy and -his- SFA. 

"Disrespect is -not- to be tolerated, I do not care if you think Tony is keeping something from you. It is -his- and -Gibbs'- personal lives, not fodder for your childish stupidity. If you harass that poor young man one more time, I am taking this -straight- to Gibbs. And I can only imagine how he is going to react once he has proof that you have been mentally mishandling -his- Senior Field Agent." Ducky's terse words manage to filter to Gibbs as he steps into the elevator, finger jabbing the number for autopsy before he can stop himself. 

"The hell is going on!?" He snarls savagely to the empty elevator. "Why is everyone pairin' us today!?" He grouches almost petulantly, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he waits for the elevator to stop.

* * *

Jimmy smiles warmly when he feels Tony begin to shift. It's minute movements at first. His hips shift, widening a little in preparation of him rolling backward. His legs tense and then rearrange themselves. His shoulders slowly rotate.

Of course, Palmer waits patiently. Inching forward slowly. Each movement from Tony elicits a move in turn. Until, finally, Palmer is settled on the edge of the table, facing the wall and Tony is facing him. The agents' arms are wrapped snuggly around Palmer's waist, his face pushed tenderly into the small of the Autopsy Gremlin's back. Palmer's hands rest lightly on Tony's arms, rubbing soft, soothing circles.

"Just examine the facts, Italian Stallion!" Palmer chides goodnaturedly, eyes closed beneath his specs. Tony snorts against his back, shaking his head.

"Enlighten me with these so-called facts, Black Lung." He mumbles against the other man, causing Palmer to squirm a little as the puff of breath catches against his scrubs and tickles him a bit. He lightly bats Tony's left arm, grinning like a fool when Tony makes a playful whining sound against his back.

"Enlightened you shall be, Tonio!" Palmer snickers, his eyes fluttering closed again as he tries to center his thoughts. Truthfully, this wasn't the type of silliness they usually talked about in the moments Tony comes down to see him. But, when Tony is this bad, Palmer doesn't mind reaching deep to find something to keep his poor friend entertained.

"For starters, Tonio, he -never- had a girlfriend. Despite the series spanning several years, not once did he show any interest in a female character." Tony starts to say something, but Palmer's hand smacks his arm tenderly, cutting off any protest. "And his -twin sister- totally doesn't count! That was about them being so deeply connected. There are many documented cases of dizygotic twins falling in love because they feel instantly connected, before finding out that they are twins." Tony huffs a laugh into Palmer's back and he actually squeaks a little as he wiggles this time, causing Tony's arms to tighten around his waist. "Then, there's the fact that the Force is basically just a mystical religious belief. Jedi are nothing more than monks, after a fashion. The Sith then become representative of any abhorrent behavior. Most religions consider homosexuality to fall under that category. By the time he rescues Han from the carbonite, he's dressed in all black, denoting the fact that he is on his way to becoming a Sith." Tony rolls his eyes, one of his hands reaching up, under Jimmy's scrubs to tickle across his stomach. Jimmy yelps this time, laughing uncontrollably.

"Come on, you have to have better reasons than that, Jimmy-kins. You sound worse than a probie." Tony huffs against Palmer's back, his fingers stilling. It's Jimmy's turn to huff a breath, though his is with mock annoyance. He reaches backward and smacks Tony on the shoulder this time. He had considered a backward headslap, but he was not stupid enough to use a Gibbs-ism on his friend. He'd not take that away from the two. 

"Silver fox!" Jimmy squeals out when he feels Tony's hand inching toward his stomach again. The words still the hand. Jimmy exhales a sigh of relief, relaxing in his friend's arms once more. "The closest bond he has in the entire franchise, not including the books since they aren't canon, is with the handsome older gentleman. The Silver Fox. The only friends he ever mentioned on his homeworld were male, and as stated, he never showed any romantic interest in anyone." Jimmy nods his head pointedly, once his argument is done. In the very next moment, Tony's hand exits his scrub top, returning to the clinging hug around his waist.

"Plus .. come on, Italian Stallion! How hot would it be if he was?! He and Obi-Wan would have made the -best- on screen couple!" Jimmy exclaims, pitching his voice as if he is a teenage girl squealing over her favorite fandom. Tony guffaws against his back, his entire form trembling with laughter before he manages to speak.

"Like, oh my god, -totally-, Palmer!" Tony pitches his voice in the exact same way, before they both breakdown into raucause bouts of laughter. Tony turns suddenly, dragging Palmer down onto the table with him. In the ensuing movement, they end up facing each other, cuddling after a fashion. Their faces are buried in each other's necks as they continue laughing.

"I don't know, Palmer. I'd have to say Captain America and Bucky have Skywalker and Obi-Wan beat by a long shot." Gibbs offers his opinion with an almost casual friendliness that the Autopsy Gremlin most -definitely- was -NOT- expecting. In fact, he lets go of Tony so fast that he nearly gets whiplash. He tries to propel himself backwards from the table, but Tony's arms tighten on him to keep him from falling and hurting himself. He draws his friend closer to his chest, while laughing as best he can.

"Sorry, Black Lung .. but I kinda have to agree with Bossman on this one." Tony snorts softly, eyes closing tightly. "Captain America is about as hot as you can get, and he and Bucky are basically inseparable. No matter what, they always have each others' backs." Palmer's eyes widen and he can't stop himself before he is looking between the two of them. Lightening fast. Was Tony completely unaware of the fact that he just described himself and Gibbs to a T?! He clears his throat, carefully pulling out of Tony's arms and sitting up.

"Okay, I will concede the point, Gibbs. Cap'n and Bucky are totally hotter." Palmer delivers the words with total seriousness, though he's wearing his big, eye-crinkling smile that causes Tony to grin as he sits up as well. He spins around so that he's facing his boss, but lets his head come to rest on Palmer's shoulder. The Autopsy Gremlin slips his arm around Tony's shoulder on instinct. Despite the giant ball of fear settled like a lead weight in his gut. He's seen the way Gibbs growls, glares, and generally threatens people non-verbally for being in Tony's proximity, let alone actually touching him. But, his fear of Gibbs doesn't outweigh his worry for Tony. So, he doesn't pull away. 

"Holy SHIT, LJ!" Tony suddenly gasps. One hand flies to his mouth to cover it, the other actually smacking his thigh in amusement as he grins at his Boss around his hand. "You totally just made two different movie references! Aww, my Padawan is learning!" Palmer's eyes grow impossibly wide behind his glasses as he watches Gibbs cross to where they are sitting. Tony yanks the hand from in front of his mouth at the same time that he raises up so that Gibbs has enough room to smack the back of his SFA's head. Tony lights up momentarily.

"Sorry boss." Tony barks out happily, before immediately dropping his head back down to Palmer's shoulder. "Won't call you my Padawan again, Boss." Tony grins sweetly up at the older, blue-eyed man, who manages a patented half-smirk for his SFA.

"Damn straight, DiNozzo." Gibbs murmurs, before turning to look at Palmer. Who looks slightly alabaster in pallor, nervous and uncomfortable. Gibbs raises an eyebrow in question, but Palmer doesn't try to explain anything. Verbally or otherwise. He finishes crossing the room and leans down toward Tony, murmuring into his ear. "Gonna go pack my gear, DiNozzo. Will be dismissing everyone in a few."

Tony makes a soft, neutral noise, head still resting on Palmer's shoulder. Gibbs half-smirks before turning to head back toward the doors leaving Autopsy.

"Gave a good one, Jimmy." Gibbs almost friendly words causes Palmer to pale even further. Once he's sure that Gibbs is well and truly away, he leaps off the autopsy table. His hands are wringing almost painfully. 

"Oh my god ... oh my god ... ohmygodohmygod....!" Palmer's voice is nearly hoarse as he struggles to get his emotions under control. Tony yelps faintly, almost face planting with his pillow now gone.

"The hell is your problem, Palmer?" He chuckles warmly, carefully pushing himself off the slab. He straightens his shirt, his eyes closing for a moment. The darkness is still there. The doubt, the pain, the insecurity ... but he definitely feels -better-. 

"He's going to kill me. He is, isn't he!? He's going to kill me and then Abby is going to help hide the body and the evidence. And Dr. Mallard will have to get a new assistant! And then .. then ... you won't have anyone to talk to anymore. And ... damn it, I'm too young to die, Tonio!" He begins to breathe shallow and faint, struggling to try and draw air in when he feels as if the world is going to start spinning. Or maybe simply shift on it's axis and take him to the ground!

"Palmer!" Tony laughs, thinking the autopsy gremlin is having one over on him. However, when he sees the way his hands are clutching at the air, the way his eyes are bugged out beneath his specs, he realizes that something is wrong. "Jimmy-kins .. what ... dude, are you okay!?" Tony leaps forward, wrapping his arms around his friend and guiding him back to the slab to sit. 

"GIBBS IS GOING TO MURDER ME AND HIDE MY BODY, TONIO!!" Jimmy screeches, causing Tony's eyes to widen painfully. What in the world is his poor little friend on about? "He glares and growls at people that just -stand- by you! What in the world is he going to do to me?? He walked in on us -cuddled- up together, man! In each others arms. Faces buried in each other's necks. I'm a dead man walking." Jimmy gasps for breath again, barely managing to get himself under control. "I .. I am way too young to die, Tonio." He reiterated, whimpering pathetically for good measure. 

Tony takes a step back, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. He cannot even -begin- to process what is going on here. He looks from the doors his boss had exited, back to his friend, head shaking the entire time.

"Have you lost your mind, Jimmy-Kins?" Tony's words are soft, as cajoling and gentle as Ducky's had been toward him earlier. He reaches out to place a hand on Palmer's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Gibbs isn't going to hurt you, Jimmy. I know everyone's afraid of him, but honestly, his bark is worse than his bite. You've given him no reason not to like you. Didn't he just tell you to have a good one? Relax." He squeezes the should beneath his hand before pulling Palmer into a hug, squeezing him close for a moment before letting go. "Besides. Gibbs doesn't care who I hug up on and cuddle with, Jimmy-Kins." Tony tries to be reassuring, letting him go and moving to lean against the autopsy table. 

Jimmy's eyes narrow, and despite the moment of abject fear a second ago, the little autopsy gremlin looks pissed. If not mildly prepared to do actual, bodily harm.

"You have -got- to be joking, Tonio! You mean, after everything, he what .. he still goes around hugging up on his damn redheads or something? I mean, if he's perfectly fine with -you- doing it, then that means -he- does it too, huh??" Palmer growls softly, stomping away from his friend. Heading straight for the pile of books he had been carrying earlier. "That is -not- cool, Tonio! The way that bastard treats you .. it just isn't right." Palmer grunts, yanking the top book off the pile, scowling down at it. "He doesn't deserve you. And you sure as hell deserve someone better than him. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turns on his heels and heads for Ducky's office, nose already buried in the book he had grabbed.

Tony stares after him, eyes wide and riddled with such deep-seated confusion and pain. First Ziva and McGee, now Palmer ... he turns, wrapping his arms around himself as he slumps out of autopsy.

* * *

Silently, eyes downcast, Tony steps off the elevator and into the bullpen. He vaguely remembers Gibbs saying something about the team being allowed to leave. He barely makes it a few steps out of the elevator before he feels a hand clasping so very gently at the nape of his neck. He forces his eyes to lift, meeting the steely ice-blues of his boss, able to read the impatience and concern there.

"With me, DiNozzo."

"On your Six, Boss." Tony curls back around, following Gibbs' gentle tug until they are both in the elevator. The hand slips almost tenderly from the nape of his neck, his bag settled onto his shoulder as they wait for the elevator to take them to their vehicles.

"You're coming with me." The words are not gruff, or harsh. They aren't even an order or command, though only Tony would be observant enough to tell the difference. No, despite the decidedly lacking raised question tone at the end of the sentence, Tony knows that Gibbs is asking, rather than demanding.

"Thank you, Gibbs." He manages to struggle the words out, following quietly behind the older man until they reach his vehicle. He tosses his bag into the back and starts to close the door, but Gibbs grabs it before he can. The older man leans in to push the bag to the far side of the seat, before nodding toward it. Tony flashes a tired, grateful smile before carefully crawling in and stretching across the seat. Using his bag as an impromptu pillow. 

"I'll be careful." Gibbs murmurs, surprisingly reassuring, before he moves to take his place behind the wheel. True to his word, there is no breakneck speed, no tailgating, or any other impatient, dangerous driving. He's genuinely cautious as they head out toward his place.

* * *

Tony rouses softly as the vehicle comes to a stop. He pushes himself to an uncomfortable sitting position, and reaches for his bag. Only to have the door open and Gibbs take possession of it. The same hand reaches out to cup the tired agent at the nape of his neck and guide him out of the vehicle. Tony hip-bumps the door shut, eyes closed as he follows his boss silently up to the house.

Gibbs opens the door without removing his hand from Tony's neck, tossing the two bags beside the coffee table even as he lightly steers the other man toward the couch. Tony makes an appreciative sound before falling face first into the structure, eyes closed tightly still, shivering when he feels his shoes being removed.

He registers the basic sounds of movement and even without being able to see, can picture it perfectly. 

Gibbs returns to the bags, rooting around in one to toss a pair of sweatpants on the coffee-table. After a single moment of hesitation, he opens his own bag and pulls out his favorite, threadbare NIS sweatshirt and tosses it to the coffee table, too. Tony grins, knowing from the two distinct bag sounds, that Gibbs has added the favored item. He can't stop the grin from spreading and softening against the couch as he pictures the feel of the object. He's come to treasure it so very much.

When he hears feet headed upstairs, he groans lightly and levers himself to a sitting position. Stripping as he goes. He pulls off his coat, his dress shirt, folding them over the arm of the couch. He wriggles and writhes until he can work his pants down, leaving him dressed in boxers. This simple act of undressing shouldn't leave him feeling as drained as it does, but he chalks it up to the emotional turmoil he experienced earlier.

He grabs the NIS sweatshirt first, pulling it against his chest and sort of just resting his chin on the balled up fabric. Honestly, just the -presence- of the piece of clothing is enough to calm him. 

"You gonna hug it, or wear it, Tony?" Gibbs playful tone barely manages to draw the man from his stupor.

"Kinda .. thinking about .. just hugging it ... Jethro." He admits before finally managing to pull it away from his chest and beginning to shrug it over his head.

"Huh." Gibbs stops long enough to cast a look at the younger man, before that outright, obvious, sunshine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes appear. "Well, could probably get Abby to make it into a blanket or something." He shrugs his shoulders as he walks through the living room and toward the kitchen. 

This thought finally manages to draw Tony from his melancholia. His eyes light up, and he lets out a bit of a DiNozzo-esque giggle.

"Oh man, that would be great, Jethro! Could take my old college hoodie and this one, and make a lil' blanket out of it." Tony laughs happily at the prospect, Gibbs allowing that full on smile to blossom even more as he goes about making coffee.

"Hmm." He grunts out, walking to lean against the entrance to the kitchen, that half-smirk in place. "That would be nice, Tony. I got an old NIS hoodie in the closet you can use, too. It's pretty much useless for wearing, but should work for that." Tony lights up even further, going so far as to bounce on the couch a little bit before he grabs his sweatpants and wrestles them on. Gibbs turns, shaking his head in amusement, heading back into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. Not that he needs it, really. He'd already had eight cups during the course of the work day, and it wouldn't hurt him to cut down on the amount of caffeine he has.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to cut down on your caffeine intake, Jethro." Tony scolds, carefully standing up to finish settling his sweatpants in place. He blinks and jumps in surprise at the loud laughter that echoes from the kitchen. He has no clue why he made Gibbs laugh, but his features become downright blinding with overwhelming happiness at the fact that he has.

"Quit readin' my mind, Tony. Might not like what you find in there." The sound of mugs settling on the counter makes Tony wriggle in place. Almost impatiently. He glances at the couch then back toward the kitchen. He bites at his bottom lip to keep from calling out. "And stop being so damn impatient!" Gibbs calls out, his words still painted with amusement. Tony feels heat shoot up his cheeks and trickle down his neck and he actually scuffs his socked foot against the floor.

"Now who's readin' minds, Jethro?" He calls out, wrinkling his nose. "Probably won't like what you find in there either, Boss." He mutters under his breath, though he's pretty sure that he can still hear it. Gibbs has the best hearing ever. 

"Ain't much I don't like about you, -DiNozzo-." He emphasizes the agents last name, since Tony had reverted to calling him Boss. Tony's head snaps up in time to see the silver fox walking out with two mugs in hand. He reaches out to take the one proffered to him, his nostrils flaring to drink in the scent floating languidly up in curling tendrils of steam.

"Hmm. Chai, Jethro?" His smile is contagious, infectious, his eyes dancing with amusement as he blows a single breath across the surface of the brew. He watches it ripple in waves, and then brings the mug to his lips. He takes a deep, steady drink, making over-exaggerated groans of pleasure as he drinks at it.

"That fancy chai latte stuff you like, Tony." He confirms, moving to settle at the far arm of the couch. He tucks his back between couch and arm, getting comfortable. Tony practically bounces on the balls of his feet, taking another big gulp of his drink before he settles the mug on the coffee table. "You are just an overgrown kid sometimes, aren't you?" He points out adoringly, watching as Tony practically throws himself down, onto the couch. He lays on his side, his arms tucked close to himself, his cheek resting lightly on his boss' thigh.

"What? I am not!" He reaches up, punching Gibbs' lightly in the thigh, next to his cheek, though he's grinning brilliantly as well. "Thanks for the chai." He murmurs, his eyes beginning to droop closed as lethargy spreads through him. He's so worn out at the moment. Over run emotionally, though he's not ready to talk about it.

"We -are- going to talk about it, Tony." Gibbs prompts softly, causing the agent's eyes to fly open in astonishment. Carefully, Tony rolls. Moves to settle on his back so that he can look up, into Gibbs' open, worried features. 

"You -really- need to stop with the mind reading, Jethro. It's starting to get a little creepy." His features scrunch up for a moment, his eyes fluttering closed. "Or, erm .. had I said something out loud? No. No, of course not. You mind-reading weirdo." Tony mutters, grunting when he feels a finger flick the end of his nose. His eyes fly open again and narrow at the hand still hovering there. "That's still assault." He huffs goodnaturedly, a half-smirk appearing for a moment. He reaches up, thumping the finger that still hovers, drawing another soft laugh from the older man.

"You like it too much to be assault, Tony." He jests, his hand falling. This time, however, he begins to run his fingers teasingly through the man's bangs, his head falling against the back of the couch as he waits. Patiently. They know the ins and outs of one another. Know when it's time to chase and when it's time to wait. Nothing will make Tony talk, -really- talk beyond the BS babbling he uses to protect himself, until he's good and ready. So, Gibbs doesn't push. Just sits there, carding his fingers through Tony's bangs. Listening to the faint purr-like sound he makes at the touch.

When had Tony started making purring sounds? Hell, when had he started giving his SFA -reasons- to start making purring sounds? He pushes his own introspective self-query to the side, silently chiding himself to remember that he's trying to be here for Tony, not trying to work out his own problems. If he would even call them that.

But, as the minutes stretch out further and further, he finally levels his head so that he can look down. He's not prepared for the veiled, searching gaze of his SFA to be studying him so intently. In all truth, he had mostly expected to look down and realize that Tony had fallen asleep beneath the petting touch. 

"... what if I don't want to talk about it, Jethro? What if I'm just sick and tired and don't want to talk? Just want to curl up here .. pretend none of it happens, that none of it matters??" The words are a desperate plea, lips barely moving to form them, and yet, they speak to Gibbs' soul. How could they not? He, who had been jokingly referred to as a functioning mute. He knows what it is not to want to talk ... and he also knows it hasn't served him well in the past. When need be, the words come. Forced, stilted, awkward, but still -there-.

"... not an option, Tony." This time words that seem like a simple statement, are actually an order of sorts. No, he won't force Tony to tell him right on the spot, but he expects the man to tell him at some point. May as well make it sooner rather than later. Tony huffs out a breath, Gibbs' eyes narrow when a blast of spiced chai washes over his senses. Hmm, that scent is damn near intoxicating in connection to the SFA.

"Why can't it be? Please .. just this once ..." Such a hoarse, pained whisper. He reaches up, grabbing Gibbs' wrist to cease the petting that is making it so damn hard to concentrate. Not to mention so damn hard to stay awake. He feels warm, lethargic, as if he will melt into sleep at any moment but he's not ready for it. 

"Because .. it won't do you any favors trying to push it away, Tony. You really wanna end up in a basement, drinkin' bourbon and workin' on boats?" The words could almost be a jest if they weren't so damn serious. Full of concern that Tony is heading in that direction, and hope that he won't end up there.

"Sure. Why the hell not, Jethro? It works for you." He exhales deeply, softly. Turns with practiced ease until his cheek is pressed to the older man's thigh once more. His eyes are screwed shut so tightly that he sees a few sparks of electric color against his lids, but ignores them. "Hell, it works for -us-. Well, the bourbon and basement part, at least. I'll never be that good at the boat stuff. But, I like it, you know? You working, me sitting on the bottom step ... even in silence, it's so peaceful." His words draw to an abrupt end once he feels the fingers carding so affectionately through his hair. It stills him instantly. Draws his raging thoughts to a close and allows him to breathe normally. 

"Yeah .. it's peaceful." His fingers still for a moment, his smile evaporating as he tries to think. Damn it, it's always so -hard- to think when they're like this. He draws his hand back, earning a fair whimper from the man curled into his lap, but he doesn't pay attention. Seems he could use a little basement time now, but he doesn't want to be seen as running away. No. No, that's not it, either. He has to be truthful with himself. He doesn't -want- to -run away- from the man curled into him. It wouldn't be fair. To either of them. "Tony .." He morphs the name into a wary sigh, and Tony tilts his head to look up at him again.

"Sorry, Boss. Shutting up now." He falls back on the familiar. Utters the word that never belongs in this place. Once they pass from the bullpen, they go from Gibbs and DiNozzo, Boss and Very Special Agent, to Tony and Jethro. But sometimes, Tony can't help himself. He tries to regain his balance by clinging to the familiar. 

"Ugh." Gibbs exhales, annoyance and frustration warring to make themselves known. His fingers slip back down into the feathery bangs. Carding through them as he shakes his head. "Kinda the opposite of what I want you to do, Tony. Jesus. When I -want- you to talk, you clam up. When I want silence, you yap like a dog." He flicks the end of DiNozzo's nose again, before his hand comes to rest gently on the man's shoulder. 

"We all have our defense mechanisms. Yapping ... bourbon .. basement ... boat ..." He gives a wry, faint chuckle, before lapsing into silence for a rather long time. He tilts his head back, moving his shoulder carefully. Back and forth. Until the older man gets the hint and begins to rub soothing circles. "It's the same old shit, Jethro. McProbie and Ziva pointing, whispering. Talking about me as if I'm not a few feet away from them. They .. I didn't hear everything they said, but they talked about me pretending about something. Same old stuff." He squirms one more time, Gibbs finally getting the message. With a laugh he reaches back up to run his fingers through his hair. Within mere moments, the purr-like sound is back.

"My loyal saint Bernard." He mumbles beneath his breath, before sobering. He doesn't like to hear it, of course. That there is any kind of friction on the team, but there is only so much he can do. He cannot order them to get along. And today had been .. well, some weird, off day. At least, that's what it feels like. Tony huffs, and even goes so far as to make a whiny puppy sound before reaching for his mug and downing most of the contents. "If you burp in my face, you'll long for the days when all you got was a headslap." 

Tony erupts into laughter, his hand flying to cover his mouth a few moments before he burps into his hand.

"Oops." He smiles sheepishly, putting the mug back down. Gibbs rolls his eyes and without missing a beat, he reaches down and swats Tony on the bum, causing him to yelp and nearly roll off the couch. As soon as he starts to roll, the older man has a hand on his shoulder, keeping him firmly in place. "Damn it, Jethro! I burped into my -hand- not into your -face-. That was uncalled for." He grumbles and growls, though the older man doesn't miss the grin on his friend's face. 

"... you know you liked it, Tony." He counters with another of those eye crinkling half smirks, his ice-blue eyes dancing with mischief and mirth. He's rewarded by Tony reaching out, lightening fast, to headslap the older man, causing his mouth to drop open in surprise. Tony adapts the Gibbs half-smirk, not cringing or in any way backing down after smacking the bossman. Because he knows. Here, they aren't boss and subordinate. They're equals. "Did you just ...?!" Gibbs sputters out, Tony's smirk growing larger. 

"... you know you liked it, Jethro." Tony's smirk reaches astronomical proportions about two seconds before he is smart enough to wrench himself out of Gibbs' hold and roll off the couch. He gains his feet in record time, snickering as he puts the coffee table between himself and a wide eyed, smirking silver fox.

"That .. is beside the point, Tony." Gibbs grins, despite himself, gaze shooting around the room for a moment. So many possible directions that Tony could go, but he knows the man well enough to know where he would head. And sure enough. The moment Tony turns to head for the basement door, Gibbs jumps up, onto the coffee-table and lunges for the younger man. He tackles him to the ground with ease, Tony yelping and squeaking as he's toppled over.

"This .. kinda seems .. familiar ... Jethro. Except I .. remember .. being ... on top." Tony growls his words as the two men wrestle on the ground. Gibbs barks with laughter before grunting. He pushes the younger man to the ground, carefully climbing up, onto the younger man until his ass is planted squarely on Tony's, holding him pinned to the ground. By sitting on top of him.

"Well, even when you were on top, Tony .. you weren't on top." He reaches down, pinching Tony's leg, making the younger man writhe and try to kick him off. Gibbs snickers, managing to keep from being dislodged. "Settle down, or next time it'll be the ass." He threatens, his voice down pitched an octave. Tony stops squirming immediately, eyes wide when the silky voice registers.

"This ... this right here ... explains so much." Both men jerk in surprise at the additional voice. Gibbs lifts his narrowed gaze, Tony trying to crane his neck to be able to see past his captor. He groans ever so softly at the sight of Fornell standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing the biggest shit-eating grin, and Tony feels a heavy stone settle deep in his stomach. "I always wondered why you refused to leave NCIS and join the FBI, DiNutzo. You just really, -really- like being .. topped." Tony lets out a loud, heavy sigh and bangs his forehead on the carpet, Gibbs rolling his eyes at his friend.

"There a reason you're here, Tobias?" The silver fox drawls out, grunting when Tony tries to dislodge him again. "Warned you, Tony." He sighs the words a moment before he reaches down and pinches his SFA right on the ass cheek. Tony yelps loudly, but manages to keep himself completely still.

"That's my -ass-, Jethro!" He growls, knowing that the words are redundant since the older man is well aware of where his hand had just been. "First you smack it, then you pinch it. If you're not careful, people might start to talk, -Boss-." His words draw a jovial laugh from Fornell.

"Apparently, people are already talking, -DiNozzo-. Abby thinks I have some kind of control over your ability to go on double dates, Ducky thinks our personal lives are shared." Gibbs wrinkles his nose vaguely as he points all this out. Tony blinks languidly, and repeats the action of smacking his forehead against the carpeted floor. 

"Damn it! McGee and Ziva called us a couple ... and Palmer thinks you're going to kill him and hide his body, for the way we were curled up in Autopsy. I tried to tell him you didn't care if he was cuddled into me, but he didn't believe me." 

"Of course I don't care if Palmer cuddles into you. Ain't nothin' gonna come of that." Gibbs snorts in amusement, before turning to look at Fornell. His friend is still standing there, mocking smirk in place as he watches the two. Tony goes almost unnaturally still at that admission. Even his breathing ceases for a moment as he tries to digest this information. So, wait .. is Gibbs saying what he -thinks- he's saying!? 

"Hang on, Jethro. Lemme get this straight." Tony slowly tries to roll, and is a little surprised when Gibbs lifts just enough that Tony can roll onto his back. He then finds his legs trapped beneath Gibbs' backside, the silver fox facing away from him. "The -only- reason my Autopsy Gremlin is still alive at the moment .. is because you don't think anything would happen between me and him .. that about right?" 

"Hmm." The man seems to have returned to his functional mute state, nothing more than a subtle affirmation given. Tony's features soften into an impish grin. 

"So .. the fact that he and I almost dated doesn't mean a thing to you? I mean sure, it wasn't much. A few drinks, a hell of a lot of flirting. Maybe some danci -- whoa!" Gibbs leaps off of Tony with a deepthroated snarl, leaving him speechless. The younger man barely manages to jump up and grab his friend. He wraps his arms around Gibbs from behind, feeling just how rigid and stiff the older man has gone.

"Dead Gremlin. Abby can help with forensics." The ex-marine grumbles, growling to himself as Tony manages, barely, to restrain him. As the two stand there, Gibbs red faced with anger and Tony desperately trying to hold him at bay, it's like a giant industrial strength light bulb going off over their heads. Every member of the team had made the implication today. That the two of them were a couple. That they were somehow intimately connected in each other's lives.

Slowly, Tony's arms drop and Gibbs turns so that they are nearly nose to nose despite the height difference. 

"Aw, hell." Gibbs snorts, Tony groaning at the same time.

"Wait, have we been --"

" -- dating this -entire- time!?" Tony and Gibbs stare at each other for a long moment, before they begin shaking with laughter. To the point they have to grab at each other, struggling to keep upright.

"Ugh. That's it. I wash my hands of you two." Fornell just shakes his head and turns, exiting the house. Though, on the plus side, at least the two seemed to be on the same page, finally.

* * *

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a silly little drabble, but I just couldn't make that happen! I hope everyone enjoyed.


End file.
